For we are Panem, sparks of the MockingJay
by IggyLovesFrenna
Summary: Kaiser, the son of The MockingJay, is swept into a world full of bloodshed and forbidden romance when the Capitol captures his family. He must live up to his mother's name and live through war and the 76th Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in his favor.


**Hey everyone! So I'm part of this new thing, project PULL, and Um, well...I Failed.**

**I was supposed to send this in last night, but I was super sick, and puked all over my keyboard, and it was bad.**

**So by technical error (it didn't work after that...Shocker) I wasn't able to.**

**But this is my story for project PULL! I will be uploading this story, and a chapter of Journey, my MR fanfic, ever other Friday as a part of project PULL. Check out the second A/N at the bottom of the story for more details!**

The day I was taken from my home in District Twelve was just like every other. It was still, with no wind to stir the leaves on the trees outside my house, no rabbits scurrying in and out of the evening primrose bushes my father had replanted every year since my aunt's death. Though still, my world was not silent. The house steps groaned as my sister Marcy rushed from her room to the kitchen, constantly forgetting her recipes. The fire crackled as my mother, ever silent as she worked, poured hours of labor into the _book of the dead_. She'd stare at it, trying to think of even the tiniest things to add in. She couldn't be done with a person, couldn't be at peace with their death until every last freckle, every last eye twinkle was marked down. My father went about his tasks that held our small family together. He'd put fresh logs in the dimmed fire, the aroma of pine always filling the sitting room where my mother worked. He'd make sure we were all fed, and if we weren't fed, at least knew how to properly feed ourselves. He even managed to teach my mother how to make bread. This was an amazing feat on his behalf.

It seemed like nothing could disrupt the peace on my home. It seemed as if my day would be as happily boring and uneventful as ever. The most excitement I ever experienced was when my father occasionally burned himself on the oven, or my mother injured herself hunting. My mother only injures herself hunting once in a blue moon, or every 5 years. My father burns himself about once a year. My life was plain, and simple, and I was content with it.

I was content because I had everything I could ever need all in this district. The meadow where I played as a child was just a short run away when it's comfort was needed. The woods, where my mother unsuccessfully tried to teach Me and Marcy how to hunt with a bow and arrow was not much farther. My mother was devastated when she failed to teach us. Her father, my grandfather, had taught her at such a young age, and we couldn't master it at all? I had never seen her so disappointed. I had tried for years to get my fingers to work like hers, my reflexes to reach behind my back for an arrow instead of my leg for my knife. It never stuck. So my mother took the opposite direction. She still taught me, but she let my father show Marcy his way. While my sister baked and slaved away in the kitchen, I was dancing the tango of war around the safety of the meadow.

My mother and I would spar for hours when she wasn't pouring her efforts into the _book of the dead_. We'd roll around the meadow, dodging each other's best efforts to land a death blow. Every now and then, one of us would get nicked by a blade, but it was nothing you couldn't shrug off. I was excellent with a knife, and my mother knew it. To make the MockingJay this level of proud was something no perfectly browned bread could earn me.

The day we were taken from my tranquil abode my mother just happened to be hunting. Off somewhere in the woods, slithering on her stomach, hiding in trees, everything she was born to do. Everything I had watched her do countless times in the re-run of my mother and father's first hunger games. The Capitol still showed it as a reminder of how the MockingJay and her husband came to be, how great they were. It seemed like a different world. The goddess of war and the lord of peace? I never understood how it all happened. Like a distant dream, my parents were once young and healthy, running around in the arena, keeping each other alive on love. Well, fake love on my mothers behalf, but I never believed that she didn't have feelings for him even then.

The door was blasted into toothpicks as they rushed in all at once. 15 men, all in black suits with rifles pressed against our heads. It was all a blur of actions then. Marcy crying, my father running to shut off the oven, to prevent the house from burning, then whirling around and cracking a man in the head with his own rifle. He was then grabbed from behind by two more men, his blonde curls and panicked eyes such a contrast from their black army gear. Marcy was gagged for her sobbing, my wrists and ankles were tied, for I had tried to run out of the window at my fathers request.

In the end, we were all stuffed into the van that led us to the train station. Then from the van into separate rooms in a car attached to the train. My wrists were bleeding from my excessive pulling on my restraints, and my ankles suffered the same fate. The fight or flight instinct had long since worn off, and I was left feeling empty. Not sad, not scared, not angry. Just . . . Nothing. I could feel no sadness, for as far as I knew my family was alive. I could feel no fright, because I had so far not been harmed except for my own self inflicted wrist and ankle wounds. I was not angry for I had no idea whom to be angry with. So I sat in a train car, which was decorated so comfortably. It was plush, and after opening the drawer of a wardrobe with my teeth, I came to find women's evening gowns and clothing.

A realization dawned on me. This was the train my mother and father were aboard on the Victory tour. This was my mothers room, where both her and my father laid in the bed, fighting off the nightmares that still consumed their slumber. My being taken was no mistake, it was straight doing of the Capitol. Of President Paylor herself.

I have my mothers blood, but also the blood of my father. I was conflicted of whether to peacefully slip my way out of my knots, or to thrash around and destroy everything I could in rage. Luckily, the latter of the two managed to sneak into my brain as unreasonable, for they probably didn't care what I destroyed at this point. This train would never be used for a purpose other than this, and it was serving it well.

It took me what I imagine to be hours, but my wrist ties came loose and piled on the ground. I used my newly freed hands to undo the knot at my feet. I smirked to myself, for the knots were simply revolting and unimpressive. Just a double knot to serve it's purpose, but a sturdier knot was going to be needed to keep an Everdeen at bay.

I took my mother's maiden name by choice, for my parent's were never officially married until after I was born. Sure, they had their little ceremony that all of District twelve knows, the burning of the bread with a match, but they never pronounced it official until I was the age of four. Marcy took on my father's name, but even by that time I knew I was Kaiser Finnick Everdeen, for Mellark would never sound right.

Finnick, though very much dead, was my idol in life. When my mother wasn't working on it, I could sit with the _book of the dead _for hours, reading and rereading his page. I was fascinated with his fighting skill, his personality, everything. His son was my sister's godfather. Immense jealousy filled my body at the thought, seeing as my godfather was Haymitch. The old drunk turned 73 this year. He had never once shown an interest in me, or my promise as a fighter. It broke my heart to think about the love an adoration Marcy got from my own godfather.

I decided to take a risk by opening up my room's door. The red hall was empty, all except for the hundreds of small censors on the wall, floor, and ceiling. There was no way I'd be getting out of this room without alerting someone. I smirked. This was too perfect.

I rolled out into the hallway, setting off as many censors as I could at once. A loud blaring noise came from the speaker on the ceiling, alarms started ringing from each censor I set off. Lights flashed as I ran to each door, knowing I had only seconds to complete my task. I slammed open the door next to mine only to find it empty. I kept moving as I set off more alarms, more bright lights flashed and impaired my vision. I had to use the alarms to my advantage, alerting my father and sister that one of us had broken out. Another door flew open after being kicked in by my foot, and I staggered inside to grab my sister, who laid cupping her ears on the floor.

"Get up!" I barked at her, directly in her ear so she could hear me. She got to her knees as I untied her wrists, then stood when I used my knife to cut her ankle restraints. I grabbed her arm, pushing her through the door. I could hear the door at the other end of the car being opened, knowing we had just a few more seconds to find my father.

I reached out my left hand to open up a door, searching frantically for my father, when it whipped open, knocking both me and Marcy over onto our backs. I was slightly dazed when my cut ankle was grabbed and dragged into the room as the door whipped open in the train car. The room's door slammed closed, was locked, and then my father pushed the nearby dresser into it.

"Kaiser? Are you alright?" Marcy was sitting beside me, her nose was bleeding from being hit with the door. I nodded slowly, sore but unharmed otherwise.

"I'm sorry you two. This is terrible," My father's eyes dropped to the floor as he sat down beside us. His door was made of steel, unlike mine and my sister's, which was false wood.

"What's going on Daddy?" Marcy asked. Even though she was 19, she never quite lost the habit I also had when I was younger of calling my father things like Daddy. We all winced as the door was slammed into, but it still held. We only had a minute at best to be with each other before they separated us again.

"I honestly have no idea. Kaiser, did you find your mother on the train?" He asked me while his eyes were trained on mine. I shook my head, expecting him to burry his head in his hands like he always does when he is upset. I was surprised when he grinned from ear to ear, then pulled us both close to him.

"Wonderful. We are safe, for now." My father's words startled Marcy, her expression gone from panicked to puzzled.

"We were just taken from our home . . . I do not understand how this is a good thing," Marcy turned to stare down my father, her favorite of our two parents, but he said no words. He simply nodded his head, shoved us behind him and slammed open the door, knocking down two guards trying to get in.

He jumped for them, landing on one's chest and holding down the other by the throat. The alarms were off now, but the censors were very much active. They beeped and buzzed as the guards and my father set them alive. Marcy was taken back by the whole violent scene displayed by our ever peaceful father. The effect wasn't so drastic on me and I raced out of the door to sit on the other guards chest to help him.

"What are your orders? Where are we being taken? We will cooperate if the truth is told." My father spoke calmly to them, his words like warm honey even in such a threatening tone.

"We are not to tell you." The guard I sat on spoke, his voice strained from my weight.

"Right. That's unfortunate for you. What a shame." My father said, then pressed his hand down hard over the man's throat. He made a face resembling a fish, then weakly kicked his legs for s few seconds, but in the end he was very still.

"Daddy . . . Did you just-" Marcy started to speak, and I could already sense in her voice that she would cry soon. She wasn't cut out for this world, she liked to play in the flowers and please her family with delicious cakes from the kitchen.

"No, he's just unconscious honey. We need to go." My father got up, walking to the car door. I would have been quick to follow him, had I not noticed the red button on the guard's uniform. It was pushed in and blinking. I got to my hands and knees, pressing my face against the plush red carpet. I sucked in my breath, reading the print above the button. He had called for reinforcements before he fell unconscious. I swore under my breath, then jumped to my feet.

"Father!" I couldn't get the words from my tongue fast enough. Guards burst through the car door, shackling my father's hands and feet with metal rings. He was pushed to the ground, a gun cracked against his head. He slumped along the wall, completely unaware of the rest of the world. Marcy shrieked as they grabbed her after me, they tazed her to stop her wails. I thrashed and kicked, landing only a few hits before a collar was placed around my neck, shocking me into a dark swirl of dreams and unconsciousness.

I could tell I was no longer in the train. I had no observation of where I exactly was, but I knew I wasn't moving. I was laying on something hard, and cold. I stretched my arms all around me, but it seemed to expand for as far as I could reach. I wiggled my toes, finding they were completely mobile, and slowly but surely got to a sitting position. I didn't try opening my eyes, for I could tell that the room I was in was extremely bright.

After stumbling to my feet, I braved opening my eyes. It took several minutes, but I was able to open them fully and assess the room I was situated in.

It was so massive that I questioned if I was even seeing the ceiling and the far right wall, they were so far away. No buildings like this existed in the districts, I was in the capitol. Exactly what I had suspected on the train. Thousands of people were around me, none paying any attention to the fact that I was laying on the cement. I was shocked, wondering why no one bothered to help. But then I realized that to my right were at least a hundred dead bodies. They thought I was dead. Great.

At the thought of the Victory Tour train, my mind stumbled upon my family. Where was my father? My sister, Marcy? Were they harmed, unharmed, safe, in fear? My mind raced as I searched through all the people in the large room, looking for Marcy's dark hair and my father's pale curls. It was in vain. I could not find them.

"Kaiser?" I whirled around to face no one other than my godfather, Haymitch. Years of drinking did nothing to help his health, but in his later years he realized that maybe he had something more to live for than drinking. Haymitch was married 20 years prior to this day, his wife was a harsh woman with a tongue that resembled a snakes. She had come from the Capitol to live the rough life in 12, when she stumbled upon the Victor's Village. She mooched off Haymitch, fixing him up from his drunken state. They were married three years before I was born, but I guess she held me after Haymitch had on my day of birth. She committed suicide after she leaned she was infertile, Haymitch was devastated. But he never went back to drinking.

"Why are you here?" I asked, walking over to his strong form. Even in his old age, he had the strength of a 35 year old. He focused all his efforts on cleaning himself up and making sure he was healthy after his wife's death. His body was in terrible shape from all of his drinking, but he managed to salvage most of it. She'd have wanted it for him, he says.

"Oh, I'm sure it has something to do with that mother of yours. Let's get you to your family, boy." He turned on his heel and walked ahead of me, not really giving me any kind of greeting. He was just an old man who could strain himself to lift hundreds of pounds still, all in vain of his dead wife. I had nothing to say to him for comfort, he had nothing to say to me. The fact we were both here was probably just coincidence.

We walked painfully for what seemed like forever. I just wanted to find my father and sister. They were no where to be seen, and I needed to know that they were safe and for the most part unharmed.

"Haymitch?" I said his name with a pain in my voice, for the man had never loved me.

"Yeah?" We stopped walking in what seemed to be a giant emblem on the floor. When I let my eyes search the whole picture, the painted gold stung an image in my eyes, my brain, my entire being. There was no question for why I was here anymore. I could never truly erase this moment from my life, never be able to be rid of it. For when the realization came to me, I staggered for breath and lost my footing. I fell to my knees, with only Haymitch to witness my meltdown in the sea of people all damned to this god forsaken place.

The emblem was a MockingJay. Along with the words "76th Hunger Games, in Honor of Katniss Everdeen".

**Okay! So this story came to me minutes after finishing MockingJay, so I just had to write it.**

**This post was made as a part of Project PULL, a writing challenge started by Bookaholic711. It's open to everyone and all the details are on her profile. If you're interested, go check it out!**

**Haha, I just copied and pasted that from a message from her to me then me to her then her to me again. Lazy...**

**Also, I am SO SORRY I missed the date, once again, I was sick. I hope that's reasonable .**

**Please Review. I know it's a hassle, I hate doing it too, but really it would help me.**


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